09.01.2014

In the House of the Hangman 1552

Each time, she finds herself tormented by her terrible fear of the rattling skeleton of a huge gorilla, which she believes inhabits the house at night. The sole purpose of his existence is to strangle her to death. In passing, she looks, as she does every night, at the large Rubens painting depicting ‘The Rape of the Sabine Women.’ These two naked, rotund women remind her of her mother and fill her with loathing. But she adores the two dark, handsome robbers, who lift the women onto their rearing horses. She implores them to protect her from the gorilla. She idolizes a whole series of fictional heroes who return her gaze from the old, dark paintings that hang throughout the house. One of them reminds her of Douglas Fairbanks, whom she adored as a pirate and as the ‘Thief of Baghdad’ in the movie theater at school. She is sorry she must be a girl. She wants to be a man, in his prime, with a black beard and flaming black eyes. But she is only a little girl whose body is bathed in sweat from fear of discovering the terrible gorilla in her room, under her bed. She is tortured by fears of the invisible. Who knows whether or not the skeleton will crawl up the twines of ivy that grow on the wall below her window, and then slip into her room. His mass of hard and pointed bones will simply crush her inside her bed. Her fear turns into a catastrophe when she accidentally bumps into the sabers, which fall off the wall with a clatter in the dark. She runs to her room as fast as she can and slams the door shut behind her. She turns the key and bolts the door. One again, she has come out of this alive. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? They let the fuckers who killed Mark Duggan go. Which fuckers? The same fuckers who killed Rosa Luxemburg, Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, Denise McNair, Fred Hampton, Argentina’s disappeared, Steve Biko, striking Cambodian garment workers: “… the ‘law’ of the police really marks the point at which the state, whether from impotence or because of the immanent connections within any legal system, can no longer guarantee through the legal system the empirical ends that it desires at any price to attain. Therefore, the police intervene ‘for security reasons’ in countless cases where no clear legal situation exists, when they are not merely, without the slightest relation to legal ends, accompanying the citizen as a brutal encumbrance through a life regulated by ordinances, or simply supervising him. Unlike law, which acknowledges in the ‘decision’ determined by place and time a metaphysical category that gives it a claim to critical evaluation, a consideration of the police institution encounters nothing essential at all. Its power is formless, like its nowhere-tangible, all-pervasive, ghostly presence in the life of civilised states. And though the police may, in particulars, appear the same everywhere, it cannot finally be denied that in absolute monarchy, where they represent the power of a ruler in which legislative and executive supremacy are united, their spirit is less devastating than in democracies, where their existence, elevated by no such relation, bears witness to the greatest conceivable degeneration of violence.” True or false? A domestic dispute over space aliens escalated Saturday morning when a lingerie-clad New Mexico woman pointed a silver handgun at her boyfriend, a weapon she retrieved from her vagina, where it had been placed while the accused was performing a sex act, police allege. To make matters more strange, the arrested woman is the most recent ex-wife of the author of No Country for Old Men and The Road. True or false? The order of the world is so foreign to our subjective interests that we cannot imagine what it is like, says William James. We have to break it. Into histories, art, sciences, or just plain rubble. Then we feel at home. Trenches filled with trash. Sandbags filled with archaeological fragments. Men filled with fear. Language is a network of easily accessed wrong turns. At the dedication of the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, the President compared his War on Terror with Lincoln’s war against slavery. Sometimes the clouds race along Elmgrove Avenue. Sometimes they hover over city hall. There used to be harbor where downtown Providence is, a pond full of perch under the civic center, Roger William's body under an apple tree. Where the Sumerian cities of Umma, Umm al-Akareb, Larsa and Tello were there is now a landscape of craters. “All Electrons are (Not) Alike.” My father’s stopped reading to watch a magpie rising black and white against the sky. Memories are many. Glitter in the brain. And the Great Reader is drawn to the magpie, known for stealing bright things. If the sirens have drowned in the alphabet, then [t]he rubrics of the dictionary meaning business is the new siren call. Money is always there but the pockets change; it is not in the same pockets after a change, and that is all there is to say about money. And now compare the ambiguous zones of a lemon:

dream of a lemon
area of a lemon
hidden lemon
subject: lemon
illusion of a lemon
memory of a lemon
image of a lemon
before or pre- lemon
painting of a lemon
sliced lemon
animal's lemon
cut-out of a lemon
after lemon
past lemon
lemon
another translation of a lemon
still lemon
misapprehension of a lemon
drawing of a lemon
model of a lemon
this is a lemon
actual lemon
impression of a lemon
moving transitional lemon
almost lemon
reflection of a lemon
photo of a lemon

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